


Please Please Me

by louciferish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 2018 World Figure Skating Championships, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Discussion of Anxiety, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Introspection, M/M, Victuuri Big Bang 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 23:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16376990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: At the 2018 World Championships in Milan, Victor and Yuuri celebrate their accomplishments in skating and their time together.





	Please Please Me

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks to my artist, [Mary Kaoru](https://marykaoru.tumblr.com/) and my official beta De_Mimsy for their patience and help in this long process <3 
> 
> And shoutout to pandamilo, Morgen, smol, and the probably 80 other people I'm forgetting who read through my first awkward attempts at porn as well and provided support and encouragement.

Yuuri snaps into his finishing position, eyes raised to the ceiling and hands on his hips, right as the music ends. He can feel his chest heaving. The thunder of the audience’s applause is barely audible over the sound of his own harsh breaths. He bows and waves to the stands, though they’re nothing but a blur of bright colors and the rippling movement of flags, and watches as toys and flowers rain onto the ice.

He keeps his head down as he skates over to the exit, dodging plush onigiri, flower crowns, and… is that underwear? He quickly looks away, gliding to a stop at the boards. He only raises his eyes to smile as Victor passes over his skate guards.

“You were beautiful,” Victor says, and Yuuri will _never_ get tired of hearing that from Victor Nikiforov, especially not when he looks like he does now: all elegant perfection in a simple black sweater and silvery leggings, his hair hanging loose and a little long, begging Yuuri to reach out and touch.

He steps off the ice and right into Victor’s arms, shivering at the temperature change as Victor swaddles him in his Team Japan jacket and pulls him close. “Did it feel good?” Victor whispers hot against his ear, and Yuuri nods, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Good,” Victor says. He pulls back, holding Yuuri at arm’s length as he transitions into coach mode. “You still need to watch your edge going into the quad salchow, though; it looked a little sloppy. Also, what was that last half on the step sequence? I know you can be much more precise than that. You weren’t getting tired, were you?”

Yuuri smiles, shaking his head as Victor continues to pick apart the details of his performance. 

“Vitya,” Yakov snaps, interrupting them to shove his skater toward the ice. “They just called your name. Get on the ice before they disqualify you for being a lovestruck fool.” 

“Okay, okay.” Victor leans in quickly to peck Yuuri on the cheek, then removes his own skate guards. Yakov watches them closely, muttering something in Russian, but the only words Yuuri can catch are either skating-related or profanity.

“Good luck,” Yuuri tells Victor before Yakov begins to shoo him away. 

“You,” he lectures. “You need to get to the Kiss and Cry before they announce your scores. You’re not even my skater! I shouldn’t have to tell you this.” Victor opens his mouth to interrupt, but Yakov points at him, his face starting to pink as he gets increasingly worked up. “No, nothing from you. You get warmed up. Yuuri, go get your scores. You two will be the death of me.”

Yuuri lets Yakov push him a bit and makes his way to the Kiss and Cry. No one is waiting for him, only Victor’s Makkachin tissue box. He picks it up from the bench, clutching it to his chest as he waits for scores. Since he lingered so long by the boards, he shouldn’t have to wait long, but Victor’s probably right about his edges: his quad sal may be under review.

The bench jolts beneath him, and Yuuri looks up to find Yurio glaring down at him. The teenager is still in his tiger-striped bodysuit, his Team Russian jacket draped over his shoulders, but he’s already freed his hair from its performance braid. He really does look a bit like Victor when he grows his hair, but Yuuri bites his tongue on that comment. The comparison comes from the press all too often and wore itself thin long ago.

“Doesn’t it bother you when he does that?” Yurio asks, apropos of nothing.

Before Yuuri can ask what he means, the monitors flash, and Yuuri sucks in air through his teeth as his score is displayed: **209.4**. It’s enough to put him in first for now, but maybe not for long with Victor still skating. 

Yuuri jumps up to wave at the rink, where Victor is now moving into position at center ice. “Victor, davai!”

Yurio groans. Yuuri turns back toward him, hugging the tissue box close again. “What?” he asks. Not that Yurio needs a reason to whine about Yuuri and Victor, but usually he saves it for times when they’re doing something more egregious, like touching, or speaking.

“I just don’t see how you do it,” Yurio says as he leans against the boards and Victor’s skate begins. “Considering how freaked out you get about every competition, I thought it would piss you off when he lectures you like that after a program, especially now that he’s a competitor and not just your coach.”

“Oh, yeah,” Yuuri responds. He sets the tissues back on the bench to wait for their master and leans next to Yurio again. The operatic piece Victor chose for his free this year ends with soaring strings and the pound of furious drums, but Yuuri prefers this first part - peaceful and quiet. The piano intro reminds him a bit of his old free skate, “Yuri on Ice.” 

Yurio is still staring at him in expectation of an answer, so Yuuri pulls himself back from the music again.

“I know it might seem strange,” he says quietly. “But actually, it makes me feel a bit better about how I’ve done.” He feels his cheeks warm at Yurio’s disbelieving scowl.

“It’s hard to explain,” Yuuri admits. He knows perfectly well that the way his brain works sometimes mystifies others. “I guess knowing he’ll be hard on my faults makes it easier for me to believe him when he says I’ve done well. Otherwise, when people compliment me, I tend to assume they’re just being polite.”

He looks back to the rink, watching as Victor completes an elegant spin. The music cue change comes next, and with it, the signature quad flip. “Victor never says anything about my skating just to spare my feelings.”

Yurio pulls a face as he pushes back from the boards. “It sounds like you found someone whose own weirdness matches yours perfectly.”

It might be the nicest thing Yuri has ever said about their relationship. Yuuri turns to him, smiling fondly, and the teenager steps back further. “Don’t look at me that way.” He shakes his head. “Save it for the old man when he finishes.”

Yuuri focuses on Victor’s program once more as Yurio beats a hasty retreat from the Kiss and Cry. The triple axel is next, and Yuuri knows it will be flawless. It’s one of the few elements where Victor had been the one seeking _Yuuri’s_ advice, and they’ve been working hard to nail it down all season. 

Yuuri winces internally, remembering his first season with Victor, and how much hearing Minami praise his triple axel had confounded him. He’d never thought he had any kind of signature jump. He didn’t listen to the announcers - commentators were always biased toward their countrymen, after all. His step sequences, those he had some confidence in, because Minako would give him hell if he screwed up, but jumps? He never trusted what others had to say.

His family, Minako, the Nishigoris, and even Minami - none of them had let him off lightly in terms of teasing and complaints after the press conference where he declared his dedication to Victor’s love. 

“Did my support mean nothing to you for all these years?” Yuuko had been the one asking, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, but they all had the same question. Yuuko was just the only one who asked so directly.

Yuuri had struggled to explain his views in a way that would salve the wound. If he was being completely honest, he’d always heard the encouragement and support of his friends and family, but despite their efforts, it always rang hollow.

Of course his family thought he was wonderful; they loved him, and besides, they knew nothing about skating. Yuuko gave him compliments because Yuuko was a sweet and polite person. Nishigori encouraged him because Yuuri’s success meant good press for Ice Castle Hasetsu. No matter who Yuuri thought of back home, his mind could supply some ulterior motive to explain why their compliments were not honest. The same logic extended to Phichit and even to Chris. Unqualified praise was never something Yuuri could place his faith in.

From the first day he’d arrived, Victor had been demanding in a way Celestino would never be. Celestino was a good coach. He was the perfect coach for Phichit, who needed a friend and a support network far from home, but who ultimately motivated himself. Once Ciao Ciao knew that Yuuri’s heart was delicate, he tiptoed around it, concealing his critiques in a cloud of praise. Instead of making Yuuri feel more confident in what he did well, it made the compliments sound like lies put in to distract him from the core truth: that he’d done _one thing_ badly.

Victor didn’t step lightly around Yuuri’s feelings. When Yuuri was in no shape to skate, Victor said so. When Yuuri didn’t put enough feeling into his choreography, it was far from a secret. Early in his training, random townspeople in Hasetsu started chiding Yuuri at the convenience store if they caught him eyeballing the KitKat section, because once Victor arrived, everyone in town knew he was meant to be dieting.

For over a week, his practices had been an unmitigated disaster. Other skaters might have been discouraged, hearing nothing but criticism from their coach, but for Yuuri it established a baseline. When he screwed up, Victor _would_ tell him. 

The first time Yuuri nailed the quad salchow in practice, Victor had hugged him. No, he didn’t just hug him; he _leapt_ into Yuuri’s arms, bursting with pride and pleasure at the improvement. Yuuri had blushed and stammered under the attention and nearly dropped Victor in surprise, but the compliment stuck. Victor had no fear of telling Yuuri when he failed, so Yuuri was convinced that he succeeded.

A burst of uproarious applause startles Yuuri from his thoughts. Victor has finished his program and is now taking his bows. Yuuri was so caught up in his own head that he missed watching Victor’s skate. He shakes his head, scolding himself. Well, if Victor had fallen or something, he would have noticed. It’s not like he’s never seen the program before and never will again. He sees it nearly every day at practice, but still, part of him will always idolize Victor’s skating and chastise him for missing a single moment.

There’s the usual rain of blue roses and poodles that accompanies the end of each of Victor’s performances. As Yuuri watches, Victor leans down to grab something from the ice, stuffing it inside his costume and igniting a chorus of high-pitched screams from the stands. 

Victor glides over to the gate and slips on his skate guards, then makes a beeline for Yuuri at the Kiss and Cry. He’s smiling, a quirk of the lip that Yuuri has seen in countless posters and paparazzi photos. When he sees Yuuri watching, though, his mouth bursts open in an unrestrained, heart-shaped grin, and he quickens his step. 

Poor Yakov has to work to stay in range of Victor’s ears as he lectures on the elements of the performance, not that Victor appears to be listening. Yuuri throws his arms open as Victor nearly bowls him over like Makkachin. Yuuri envelops his husband in a clinging hug, burying his face in the crook of Victor’s neck. Victor smells like sweat and the sharp notes of his preferred aftershave, but underneath that he always seems to carry a fresh scent that reminds Yuuri of the spray of ice beneath blades. Yuuri licks his lips and tastes salt.

“How was it?” Victor asks. His mouth is pressed to the back of Yuuri’s ear, and the tickle of lips and teeth against the thin skin there tugs at the base of Yuuri’s spine.

“Incredible,” Yuuri murmurs. It’s not a lie. Yuuri always thinks his performances are incredible. 

-

Yuuri and Victor step out of the locker room in tandem, both enamored by their phone screens in the post-podium haze. Victor has no problems jumping straight into social media after a competition, wanting to find the best articles and live tweets of the event. Yuuri, meanwhile, has learned to let Victor filter that news for him. He only checks the supportive texts he missed from friends and family.

“Jim Van Horne said your skate was, I quote, ‘sick’,” Victor announces. 

Yuuri hums in response. “Yuuko says hello, and that the triplets put something weird on their Instagram that you shouldn’t look at.”

Victor goes quiet for a minute, and Yuuri waits, knowing that Victor will immediately check what the weird thing is. He pulls a face when he finds it, but Yuuri’s phone vibrates with a notification that he was tagged in something.

“What did you say to them?” Yuuri demands. 

“You don’t want to know right now,” Victor replies blithely. He flips through a few pages, runs one long finger down the screen, then smiles. “This girl on Twitter thinks my ass gets better with age.”

“Smart girl,” Yuuri says, bending his head to hide his smirk in the collar of his jacket. 

“I’m going to tell her you said that.”

“No!”

A sudden tackle from the rear leaves Yuuri stumbling, a familiar weight hanging off his shoulders and a pair of brown arms slung across his neck. “Congratulations, you two,” Phichit coos before dropping back onto the floor between them.

A few of the passers-by look at them sideways, startled, and an unfamiliar woman with a press badge snaps a quick picture. Well. It’s not the worst photo that’s ever been taken of him. Chris and Yurio still have those.

“Thanks, Phichit,” Yuuri says. His friend’s enthusiasm always pulls a smile from him. “I’m sorry we missed your skate.”

“Not to worry! Thailand’s future is coming to knock you both off the podium next season,” Phichit says. His tone is joking and Victor chuckles at the suggestion, but beneath it Yuuri can feel them both steeling, dead serious about the competition. 

“But for now,” Phichit continues. “I’m here to invite you out for dinner and sightseeing! A few of us are going to meet at the duomo in a couple hours and go from there.”

Yuuri looks over at Victor to gauge his interest. Victor still has a smile plastered over his face, but his eyes are half-closed, and he peers at Yuuri from beneath his pale lashes. Yuuri chews his lip. The familiar, heady look Victor is giving him has an underlying promise to it - one that involves many tempting sights, but not on the streets of Milan. 

Victor’s lips part, and Yuuri bumps into Phichit. _Oh._ He forgot they were still walking. Phichit gives him an entirely too knowing look as Yuuri’s face heats.

“Maybe,” Yuuri says. “Why don’t you call me when you meet up, and we can let you know where we’re at, okay?”

“Sure,” Phichit says, still smirking as his eyes dart between Yuuri and Victor. “We won’t wait up for you.”

“Thank you,” Victor says. He ruffles Phichit’s hair, and the press woman snaps another few shots. 

Yuuri hopes very much that she hasn’t been taking pictures the whole time. Yakov will kill them if they make the tabloids for looking “inappropriate” at a competition _again_. Yuuri’s thighs are already burning in anticipation of extra laps and compulsory figures.

-

After his short program two days prior, Yuuri had been so tired that he’d barely been able to keep his eyes open on the taxi ride to their hotel, sagging across the seat to rest on Victor’s shoulder. Today is different. His body hums with nervous electricity, and he squeezes his knees to keep his legs from jittering and giving him away.

Victor is staring out the window of the car as they speed down the busy streets, his elbow propped up against the window. The cool spring light outside bounces off the medal hanging heavy around his neck and catches in the soft fall of his hair. 

As if sensing Yuuri’s eyes on him, Victor turns, smiling fondly. He lays his hand on the seat between them, and Yuuri reaches out to meet it, lacing their fingers together. Warmth spreads up Yuuri’s arm from their joined hands, loosening the knots of tension in his shoulders.

Then, Victor deliberately scrapes his fingernail along Yuuri’s palm, tickling the sensitive fate line at the heart of his hand, and raises the dial from warmth to heat. Yuuri turns to the window to hide his flush from the eyes of their taxi driver and clutches his knee harder.

Memories, soft and blurred, tumble into his mind unbidden - grasping hands in the back seat of another taxi, body heat and panting breaths and the slick, desperate heat of Victor’s mouth against his own as gentle sighs contrast with the sharp tug of nails against his scalp. Yuuri can still taste the burn of foreign spice on Victor’s lips beneath the sweetness the wine left on his tongue.

It’s a good memory, but not one he wants to repeat with daylight and sobriety both working against him. He stays on his side of the seat and tries to count his own breaths as the taxi careens toward their hotel.

The hotel is all clean lines and glistening white surfaces, exactly to Victor’s tastes. When they’d checked in, Victor had smiled slyly at the clerk as he leaned on the counter to pass her his credit card. “It’s our honeymoon,” he told her, ignoring Yuuri’s spluttering protests. 

It may not be their honeymoon, but they have plenty of other things to celebrate. Yuuri’s medal swings like a pendulum from his neck as they pass through the hotel lobby, and the other tourists turn to stare at them. Yuuri doesn’t return their looks, more interested in watching the fine tips of Victor’s silver hair sway and brush the peaks of his collar as he moves. His fingers are warm against Yuuri’s palm, and he pulls Yuuri through the pristine, white-paneled hall toward the elevator.

The elevator doors slide open to reveal two older women already inside, and their eyes go wide when they see Victor and Yuuri. They might recognize Victor, or maybe it’s the medals, but as they step into the carriage, Yuuri pulls his hand out of Victor’s grasp and tries to shove aside his disappointment that they won’t be alone when the doors close. 

He folds his hands together in a semblance of propriety, which is immediately ruined when Victor leans into his space, whispering hot against his ear, “You looked incredible on the podium beside me. The press had to yell at me to pull my eyes away for the photos.”

Yuuri’s face is on fire, and he ducks his head to hide his reaction in case the other guests are watching. Victor doesn’t need to see his face to know the effect his words have on Yuuri. This isn’t the first time they’ve played this game, but Yuuri’s post-competition leggings will leave little doubt as to how he feels if he’s not careful. He shifts his clasped hands to the side a bit, just in case. 

The elevator chimes, announcing their floor, and Yuuri squeezes through the doors as soon as they open wide enough, sparing only a moment’s thought to hope the two women aren’t going to follow. They don’t.

Victor glances over his shoulder at Yuuri, tossing his hair out of his face with a playful grin. “Race you to the shower,” he says, and dashes down the carpeted hall toward their room.

Yuuri takes off in pursuit. He doesn’t even _need_ to shower. He showered at the rink! But, as Victor pulls away a bit more, Yuuri pushes himself once again, stretching his legs until he can reach out and fist the loose fabric of Victor’s shirt tail.

He pulls Victor back by the shirt and wraps a possessive arm around his waist to press gasping laughter into the top of Victor’s spine. He loves this the most - the moments after the pressure of competing has subsided, and they get to just be Victor and Yuuri again, laughing together as they pull each other close with no eyes on them.

“Oh no,” Victor says, reaching around to cup the back of Yuuri’s head and pull him in closer. “You caught me.” Yuuri hums, then hears the beep and click as the electronic lock on their door disengages. “Too bad I already won,” Victor continues with a teasing lilt.

He slips from Yuuri’s arms, but catches him by the hand again and tugs him into their room. Yuuri sighs at the sight of their freshly-made king bed, piled high with plush white bedding. He releases Victor’s hand and collapses forward, planting his face straight into the cool, clean fabric of the comforter. 

When there’s no answering press of weight displacing the bedding beside him, Yuuri rolls onto his side. Victor stands at the foot of the bed, his back to Yuuri as he unbuttons his shirt. Yuuri can see the pale skin and well-defined planes of his chest reflected in the full length mirror on the wall. He watches as Victor unfastens the last few buttons, then slides his hands down to linger at the cut of his hip where it peeks at a sharp angle from the waist of his slacks.

Yuuri looks up and meets Victor’s sparkling blue eyes in the mirror. “I didn’t know I was meant to be putting on a show,” Victor says, raising one eyebrow. “Should I slow down, or maybe put on some music?”

“You’re _always_ putting on a show,” Yuuri says. “Why didn’t you shower in the locker room?” He flings out one arm across the bedspread, beckoning with his fingers. “Come lay down with me instead.”

“Hm,” Victor taps one long finger on his chin in thought, then announces, “Nope. I most definitely need to shower.” He reaches up to lift the medal from his neck, then leans across the bed and loops it over Yuuri’s head, where it clinks against his own. 

“I’ll be back in a moment, my champion,” Victor murmurs, then presses a lingering kiss to Yuuri’s forehead before retreating into the bathroom.

Yuuri watches the door close and listens as the shower hisses to life on the other side. He lets himself fall back onto the bed and fishes his phone out of his pocket, holding it up to check for messages.

 **Phichit:** Congratulations again!

 **Phichit:** So, will you actually be coming out later, or will the two of you be too busy “celebrating” to join the rest of us?

Yuuri snorts, and quickly types back.

_We want to come see everyone! Victor’s showering right now, but I’ll let you know when we’re ready to come! ___

__He’s barely hit send when the phone vibrates again in his hands._ _

__**Phichit:** I bet you will._ _

__Yuuri rolls his eyes. Texts like that do not merit a response._ _

__He thumbs open the rest of his messages. Yuuko is congratulating them as well, gushing about his camel spin, and then there’s another text about Yurio’s new quad lutz that has far more exclamation points than normal. The girls must have taken Yuuko’s phone again._ _

__He opens the next unread message._ _

__**Minako:** Tell Victor he needs to work on his precision in those step sequences still._ _

__**Minako:** Also, good work._ _

__**Minako:** Is the skater from Malaysia single? _ _

__**Minako:** Don’t get too excited and forget to call home._ _

__Yuuri shakes his head, but he knows when to follow directions from his teachers. He pulls up the number at the onsen and holds the phone to his ear, waiting for the familiar click of a pick-up on the other line._ _

__“ _Moshi moshi,_ ” his mama’s familiar voice sing-songs across the distance. “Yu~topia Katsuki!”_ _

__“Hi, Okaasan,” Yuuri says. Just the sound of her voice pulls at the corners of his mouth, and he reaches down, gripping the intertwined ribbons of the medals on his chest. “Did you get a chance to watch any of the competition?”_ _

__“Oh, Yuuri,” she gushes. “Yes! We threw a little party to watch again. All of the guests have just left.”_ _

__Faintly, Yuuri can hear a familiar drunken coo of, “Yuuri! Give me that phone number!”_ _

__“Well, most of the guests,” Hiroko corrects herself._ _

__Yuuri laughs. “Tell Minako-sensei that I don’t know the Malaysian skater, please.”_ _

__“I’ll tell her if she remembers asking tomorrow,” Hiroko says, giggling. “Oh, congratulations to you and Victor both! Tell him I said so!”_ _

__“Yes, Mama.” Yuuri rolls over onto his stomach, pressing the phone more tightly to his ear. He can’t hear the water running in the bathroom anymore. “He’s in the shower right now. I’ll tell him when he gets out.”_ _

__“Good. And tell him that when you come home, I’m going to make you both all the katsudon you can eat to celebrate.”_ _

__“Ahh,” Yuuri has to pause to lick his lips. His chest tightens with longing for home, and not just because of the katsudon, although he definitely earned a few bowls this season. He loves the home they’ve made in St. Petersburg, but after a long season, Hasetsu always calls him back. “Thank you, Mama,” he says. “I’ll pass the message along.”_ _

__A weight shifts the balance of the mattress, tipping Yuuri to one side. He looks back over his shoulder to see Victor crawling up the bed, nothing but a delicate white towel tied around his waist, a shimmer of wetness still trapped in the hollow of his collarbones. His blue eyes are narrow above a smug smile as he settles in to straddle Yuuri’s hips. He leans forward, pressing shower-warm skin flush against Yuuri’s back through the thin fabric of his shirt, and Yuuri has to pull the phone away to prevent his mother from hearing the way his breath catches and stutters in response._ _

__“Hiiiii, Mama,” Victor croons against Yuuri’s ear, unselfconscious as usual in his position. His wet hair trails cold across the back of Yuuri’s neck, contrasting the heat of his body._ _

__Need unfurls in his gut as Victor presses a kiss to Yuuri’s hairline and the movement brushes an unmistakable hardness against the small of his back. Victor’s been busy in the shower, then, or at least has something on his mind._ _

__“Well,” Yuuri breathes into the phone, his voice breaking a little. “Victor’s here. Gotta go, Mama. We’ll be home soon!”_ _

__He can hear his mother’s voice echo tinny through the phone speaker, but he can’t make out the words before Victor scoops the phone out of his hand and disconnects the call._ _

__Yuuri rolls onto his back in the scant space between them. He slides his hands up the hard muscle of Victor’s thighs until his fingertips are grazing just beneath the miniscule hotel towel._ _

__Victor is smirking down at him, dangling the phone above Yuuri’s head. He smells like coconut and lime and pure, crisp cleanness. Yuuri leans up on his elbows, getting infinitesimally closer to that place where a few stray drops are clinging to Victor’s abs, begging him to lick them away._ _

__“You smell good,” Yuuri says, thumbs rubbing absently along Victor’s inner thigh, dipping into the cavern formed by the towel. “Maybe I should have joined you after all.”_ _

__“No point,” Victor pronounces, and he tosses Yuuri’s phone over toward the windows, where it plops into Yuuri’s open suitcase, cushioned by his clean clothes. Victor bends to Yuuri’s ear, his wet hair cold against Yuuri’s skin, pulling a helpless shiver from him. Yuuri recognizes the familiar scent of Victor’s favorite shaving cream as their smooth cheeks brush, and Victor’s breath sends static crawling up Yuuri’s spine when he whispers, “You’re just going to get sweaty again.”_ _

__Yuuri’s fingers clutch Victor’s hips beneath the towel. It’s the only warning Yuuri give before he flips them, rolling Victor onto the mattress beneath him. It knocks the towel askew, creeping up the curve of his thigh._ _

__“It’s not polite to take someone’s phone,” Yuuri says. He means to scold, but his tone doesn’t carry much weight when his eyes are still fastened to the sprinkles of silvery hair visible at the edge of the stubborn towel._ _

__“Oh really?” Victor’s fingers begin their journey at his own collarbone, sliding down to the plain of his chest. He detours to rub his nipple and gasps, arching at the sensation. Yuuri stares, hypnotized and tense, as Victor’s hand moves again, skimming lower, skating across his stomach before finally stopping at the knot of the towel._ _

__With a single tug at the gathered fabric, the knot collapses and the towel falls open._ _

__Yuuri’s heart stops for a moment, seeing Victor Nikiforov laid out on the white sheets before him like a meal, eyes and heart and body all open and honest in their equal desire for Yuuri’s attention._ _

__It’s more intoxicating than champagne. Want makes Yuuri weak, and he’s surprised to see his hands are steady as he reaches out. His hands glide up Victor’s body, skating across the shower-warmed planes of his chest to cup the back of his head and lift Victor into a much-needed kiss. His lips are hesitant against Victor’s at first, but he quickly grows bold. Victor groans and laps at his mouth, and Yuuri parts his lips to taste the crisp mint of Victor’s toothpaste._ _

__Victor brings his hands up to Yuuri’s face, stroking the smooth line of his cheek, and one finger slowly traces the whorl of his ear, where Victor’s breath had whispered minutes prior. Yuuri shivers at the touch, and his hands clench, hips rocking against Victor’s thighs, seeking friction that isn’t there._ _

__Nimble fingers quickly find the hem of Yuuri’s shirt and tug at the fabric insistently. Yuuri pulls away and Victor chases him, clutching at his hip bones. Victor’s lips are swollen from the kissing, pink and shining, and Yuuri finds himself caught, admiring the view. He’s the reason Victor looks like this - pink and flushed, hair in disarray and lips parted as if waiting, and oh my god, _he_ is the reason Victor looks like this. Him. Yuuri._ _

__Victor’s lips tug into a smirk. “See something you like?” He asks, smug._ _

__“Something I love,” Yuuri breathes in return. Victor’s eyes darken in response, and he reaches for Yuuri again, sliding beneath his shirt to skip along his stomach and press at his sides._ _

__Cursing softly, Yuuri grabs at the back of his shirt, twisting and flailing to find his way out of the dark fabric. The shirt collar catches on the medals still hanging from his neck, and he reaches up to pull those off too, when a bare touch of Victor’s hand on his makes him pause._ _

__“Leave those,” Victor says, rough want threading through his voice._ _

__Yuuri drops them. He would do anything for Victor right now, as long as he keeps looking up at Yuuri this way, as if he’s the sunset falling over the ocean or the first star lighting up the night sky._ _

__Victor tugs again at the shirt still trapped against the medals, and Yuuri scrambles to untangle it fully. Freed, he flings it across the room, then bends to catch Victor’s mouth again._ _

__Their chests meet, bare warmth to answering muscle, and the press of skin is a relief and a goad at once. Need for _more_ makes Yuuri clumsy, teeth catching on Victor’s plump lower lip as they slide against one another. Victor pants against his mouth, and Yuuri presses in. There’s a moan vibrating through them, but Yuuri’s not sure who it began with. The whimper as Victor answers by sucking his tongue, however, is decidedly his._ _

__He has to pull back for a moment and look again, wanting his eyes on Victor almost as much as his hands. This might be his favorite version of Victor - loose and flushed, his eyes dark with lust and love intertwined and his nails pressing little moons into the curve of Yuuri’s back. Victor’s hands sear a path from Yuuri’s shoulders to his hips, where his grip settles._ _

__Pulling Yuuri close, Victor rolls on top, his strong thighs gripping Yuuri’s like a vice._ _

__Victor smiles down at Yuuri, playful as his fingers trace a path to Yuuri’s nipples and circle them. Pleasure sparks beneath his skin, and Yuuri arches, pushing harder into the teasing touch. A moan rips itself from his throat. Yuuri’s never been particularly vocal in bed when he’s sober, but Victor knows exactly which strings to pluck to make his body sing._ _

__When Yuuri’s eyes can focus again, Victor is looming over him like a fae creature from a story - out for mischief, if not blood. Yuuri leans up for a kiss, but Victor ducks his attempt, mouthing across the line of his jaw instead. His hips roll, pulling another, softer moan from Yuuri’s lips as his hard cock drags across the bulge now tenting Yuuri’s leggings._ _

__“Yuuri,” Victor moans against his neck, the desperation in his voice dragging the vowels of his name out, sticky taffy of his tongue. “God. You were incredible today.” His lips move behind Yuuri’s ear, voice reverberating off the bone._ _

__“You move like no one else out there, and everyone knows it,” he says, trailing his mouth along the line of Yuuri’s neck until he finds the delicate skin of his throat and nips at it. Little sparks like white florets unfurl on Yuuri’s eyelids. “You’re a miracle.”_ _

__The blood is rushing in Yuuri’s ears and he feels himself flush impossibly hot. He stutters to find the words to respond, but the only one he can come up with is, “Please.”_ _

__He says it again. “Please. Please please please please.”_ _

__Victor scrapes his teeth again over Yuuri’s jugular, and then he bites. Electricity shoots through Yuuri, and he twists beneath Victor. There’s a distant, high-pitched noise, like someone left a kettle on in the next room. When the bite ends, a rough feeling in his throat tells Yuuri that the sound came from him._ _

__Victor pulls back. There’s a satisfied smirk playing across his lips, but his eyes are still dark with want. He dips his head toward his neck once more, and Yuuri scrambles to put a hand over his mouth and block another assault on his delicate skin. Victor’s breath is hot against his palm, and they’re both panting, but Victor accepts the redirection, mouth trailing from his palm up to the thin skin of his wrists._ _

__“You’re going to leave the whole audience panting tomorrow,” Victor says, then demonstrates by thumbing over Yuuri’s nipples again. His hips stutter, reaching for contact, but Victor kneels up, tantalizingly out of reach. His hand moves to curl around the ribbons, the medals still heavy around Yuuri’s neck, and he uses the grip to pull Yuuri up to meet him, twisting his other hand into Yuuri’s hair as their mouths meet, devouring._ _

__As Yuuri sinks back onto the bed, Victor takes Yuuri’s hand in his own, tugging it to his hip, then urges him back. Yuuri’s palm skates along the tempting roundness of his ass. He clutches at Victor, bruisingly hard against that soft flesh that covers the honed muscle of him._ _

__But Victor is still pulling on his wrist, urging him on until Yuuri’s fingers brush his puckered entrance. He traces the rim and Victor hisses, rocking back into the touch, demanding Yuuri’s attention._ _

__His fingertip breaches easily - hot, _slick_ , and Yuuri moans again as he realizes why Victor took that shower. The image flickers across the backs of his eyelids: Victor in that huge, luxurious bathroom, one foot propped up on a stool and hot water cascading over his body as he reaches back with lubed fingers, slowly opening himself up for Yuuri to use._ _

__Yuuri pushes two fingers in and crooks them, skidding along that soft gland for a moment, and Victor freezes above him, head thrown back, breath caught in his throat._ _

__Then Victor bats at his hand, pushes him away, and they both scramble for the waist of Yuuri’s leggings, hands clumsy with lust and the slippery traces of lube. Their arms intertwine in their haste, and Yuuri has to stop, lifting his hips as he lets Victor take control._ _

__Victor makes quick work of his pants and underwear, though he lingers for a moment to clutch at the firm globes of Yuuri’s ass as he drags the fabric away._ _

__Yuuri’s cock springs free, and Victor resettles himself, spread open across Yuuri’s thighs. Their eyes meet - Victor’s placid blue tinged with desperation. A spark of mischief flickers across Victor’s face and then all Yuuri can do is grab at the sharp jut of Victor’s hips and hold on as Victor wraps his hand around Yuuri’s length and slowly lowers himself down._ _

__There’s a moment of resistance, and then Victor throws his head back as Yuuri’s cock slides into him. Yuuri gasps, his body begging him to arch up, to thrust into that tight, hot, _perfect_ space Victor’s made for him. His hands are frantic, sliding up Victor’s thighs to grip his hips and then back down again. Victor pauses to adjust midway, and Yuuri reaches up, one hand finding a nipple as the other grips Victor’s cock._ _

__With a shuddering breath, Victor slides back down, thighs spreading wide as Yuuri bottoms out._ _

__Victor barely pauses to adjust before his head falls forward and he begins to rock, balancing himself with his palms hot on Yuuri’s chest, leaving Yuuri unable to do anything but gasp for breath, fingers skittering across any bit of Victor he can reach._ _

__“Yuuri,” Victor begins to croon again as he moves. “You feel so good. Yuuri. Yuuri. боже. You were beautiful today. Your steps, your jumps, Yuuri, you were-” He cuts off on a gasp as Yuuri’s cock brushes some untouched place within, then starts again._ _

__“You seduced me, Yuuri, and the audience too.” His body clenches down on Yuuri, and he groans, the sound catching and stuttering in his throat, and Yuuri realizes he’s grasping Victor’s hips too tightly, the red half-moons of his nails imprinted in the pale skin._ _

__Victor leans down to meet him and the angle shifts, freeing Yuuri’s hips to twist upward and meet Victor thrust for thrust. Pleasure pools at the base of Yuuri’s spine as short, rocking movements stretch out into long, slow rolls of the hips. They’re both moaning, open-mouthed and hot against the other’s skin. The heat of Victor’s body above him is overwhelming alone, but each gasping word of praise that falls from Victor’s lips makes Yuuri’s cock twitch and throb._ _

__“Been thinking about this all day,” Victor mouths against Yuuri’s chest, teeth etching trails into Yuuri’s body as he speaks. “Saw you on the ice and wanted you right there. Fuck. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, even when I was skating. I could feel you all through me already. Yuuri.” His breath washes hot over Yuuri’s ears as he gasps, “My champion.”_ _

__Yuuri can’t take it anymore - the words, the rhythm, the wet heat of Victor tightening around him. Sweat slicks their skin where their bodies meet, and he buries his fingers in the long hair at the nape of Victor’s neck to yank him into a gasping kiss._ _

__The leaking tip of Victor’s cock rubs along Yuuri’s stomach as he angles to drink the words from Victor’s lips, and Yuuri barely has his fist around the hard length of his cock before Victor cums, crying out loudly as he trembles against Yuuri._ _

__Yuuri wraps his arm around Victor’s waist to anchor him and bends his knees for leverage to thrust, reaching for that spot just outside his grasp. He rushes toward his own pleasure, overwhelmed by the sensations as Victor’s body relaxes and gives way to his demands._ _

__A sharp spike arches through Yuuri’s body like a current and suddenly he’s there, pulling Victor closer as he loses himself to the floods of pleasure flowing through him, shaking and gasping beneath his love._ _

__Yuuri’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, restrained by the near-dead weight of Victor still resting on top of him. After a moment, his heart rate begins to slow and his breathing deepens. Victor nuzzles up from his chin to his lips to seal the day with a gentle, loving kiss. Burying his fingers in Victor’s hair, Yuuri pours his heart from his mouth in return._ _

__Victor shifts, allowing Yuuri’s cock to slip free as he twines their legs together, and Yuuri’s fingers dig into his sides. He’s not ready to let go just yet._ _

__Yuuri feels Victor’s sigh more than he hears it, and nuzzles his face against Yuuri’s chest in contentment as the flush begins to fade from his face. His hair, half-dried, is a messy halo against the pillow. Victor would hate it if he could see, but this is Yuuri’s favorite version of Victor too - disheveled, languid, stripped of his masks by pleasure._ _

__His fingers trace absent patterns across the plane of Yuuri’s chest, then trip down the ribbons to play with the tangled gold and silver medals. Victor’s ear is pressed over Yuuri’s heart, and Yuuri begins to gently sort the tangles from his bent head._ _

__“I can hear your heartbeat,” Victor murmurs. “It’s still pounding.”_ _

__“Mmm,” Yuuri says in response, and shifts, stretching. There’s a cool breeze drifting through the windows that’s starting to make him wish they’d made it under the covers. Now, Victor is the closest thing he has to a blanket._ _

__Victor squirms against him, then flops to the side, shaking the mattress as he lands on his back._ _

__“Too warm,” he complains, then pulls a face. “Everything is sticky. Yuuri, you got the bed all sticky.”_ _

__“ _I_ got the bed sticky?” Yuuri huffs, rolling to face him. “You were the one-” but he stops, knowing it’s pointless to continue. Victor loves to instigate sex as much as Yuuri does, but he’s a disaster when it comes to cleaning up after. Yuuri slides to the end of the bed and pads to the bathroom to get a washcloth._ _

__The water pours icy from the tap at the sink and Yuuri quickly twists the other knob to warm it. As he waits for the temperature to adjust, he catches a glimpse of something red from the corner of his eye. He looks up at the wide mirror on the wall._ _

__Beneath the medals still hanging from Yuuri’s neck, the ruddy imprints of Victor’s teeth stand out in sharp relief against the pale skin of his collarbone, already darkening at the edges. Fuck. His gala costume has a boat neck._ _

__He stalks back into the bedroom, where Victor is still lounging like an artist’s model on top of the covers. Yuuri lobs the wet rag at him, and it lands on his stomach with a satisfying thwack._ _

__Victor pouts. “What was that for?”_ _

__Yuuri taps at his collar in response. He can already feel the mark beginning to throb beneath his fingers. “This, is what. How am I supposed to cover this up before my exhibition tomorrow?”_ _

__“You seemed to like it a moment ago,” Victor says mildly. He finishes wiping away the residue of their activities and tosses the rag onto the bedside table before crawling to the end of the bed. His hips shake as he moves and Yuuri’s dick winces in protest. He shouldn’t even be _thinking_ of sex right now._ _

__Victor kneels in front of Yuuri, and his hair is still a _wreck_. It drags a smile from Yuuri, and Victor returns it two-fold. “Can you blame me?” Victor asks, opening his arms for a hug. “Everyone’s going to be looking at you out there tomorrow. I need them to know who you belong to.”_ _

__Yuuri huffs a laugh, shaking his head fondly. “Victor, we’re _married_.”_ _

__Victor only shrugs, then opens his arms wider, and Yuuri gives in, tackling him back onto the soft mattress and burying his face in Victor’s neck._ _

__Neither notices the quiet buzzing of Yuuri’s phone, vibrating away in the middle of his suitcase._ _

__Out in the piazza, Phichit pulls his phone away from his ear, heaving a sigh. “Big surprise,” he says. “Neither of them is answering.”_ _

__He snaps his phone back onto the end of the selfie stick and turns to where Chris, Georgi, Yuri and Otabek sit waiting on a bench._ _

__“Well, just us then. Come on,” he grins, bouncing on his toes. “I hear that somewhere nearby we can dance on bull testicles for luck!” They make their way back toward the mall as the sunset burnishes the Duomo in gold._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! You can find me on tumblr [here](http://louciferish.tumblr.com) and artist Mary [here](https://marykaoru.tumblr.com/)!


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